


The Good Times Are Killing Me

by GalaxyGhosty



Category: JackSepticEye (YouTube RPF), Markiplier (YouTube RPF), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Mild Language, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-01 23:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6540931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGhosty/pseuds/GalaxyGhosty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. “Don't know why,” Mark mutters, “you couldn't just toughen the fuck up and tell your parents we broke up a month ago.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Good Times Are Killing Me

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know what to say about this fic other than the fact that I'm feeling gross and at least these two goobers can have their happy ending.
> 
> All in all, I like this piece, though. Enjoy.

“Don't look at me like that,” Jack hisses. “Don't you fucking look at me like that.”

“Don't fucking swear at me,” Mark seethes back. “This was your idea.”

Jack's grip on his own arms tightens considerably, and it takes all of Mark's energy to not slam his foot into the brake pedal just to see Jack squirm. He channels all of his anger into the steering wheel, knowing it won't do any good, but turns the sharp corner toward Jack's house nonetheless.

“Don't know why,” Mark mutters, “you couldn't just toughen the fuck up and tell your parents we broke up a month ago.”

“I'm _going_ to,” Jack replies. “Just not now. Christ, believe me, the last thing I want is to still be with you. But it'd break their fuckin' hearts to hear at Christmas that I was single. They liked you. I'm not gonna be the shittiest son in the world just because I can barely stand to look at you.”

Mark scoffs, but doesn't answer. Truthfully, he has nothing against Jack's parents—only something against the young man in the passenger seat. Too loud, too irritable, too irritating, awkward, clumsy, frustrating, stubborn.

He grinds his teeth as he pulls into the driveway. He lets out a soft sigh, and the tension in Jack's shoulders loosens a fraction. He slides his hand onto the door. “Don't make this any harder on either of us. It's just a few hours and then you can get the hell out and never look back.”

“Never is too soon,” Mark drawls, and in the dark, he can see Jack roll his eyes as he gets out of the car.

But soon enough Mark gets out as well, and he's greeted with cool, winter air and a shivering Jack. No matter how many jackets he wears, he'll never be warm. Mark doesn't offer him his coat.

Jack is unfazed by his lack of concern as he approaches his family's door. He rings the doorbell and Mark slowly approaches behind him, pasting a smile on his face the minute the door opens and the light bathes the both of them.

“Mark, Jack!” Aidan, the oldest, greets them. “Ma! Jack and Mark are here!”

He opens the door for the two of them to enter and Jack steps inside, kicking off his shoes, hitting Mark as he does so. Mark thinks maybe it's on purpose but he can't really be sure, so he doesn't mention it at all. Jack is doing the perfect job of masking the unhappiness from earlier, pasting a grin onto his face as he embraces his siblings, and then his mother and father as they step inside.

The round of hugs soon pass to Mark, and barely concealing his frustration with the situation, he hugs them all in turn.

(Why did he agree to this?)

“It's good to see you,” Emma says, the closest sibling in age to Jack and the one closest to him in general. “How are you, Mark? Jack treating you okay?”

She mentions it in jest, obviously assuming that him and Jack are still on good terms. That they don't totally hate each other and the they're still as sickly in love as four years ago.

“Oh, you know Jack,” Mark answers, slyly. “He's been treating me like shit.”

A burst of laughter comes out of everyone, taking his statement with a packet of sugar—they all think he's making a joke. But he isn't, and Jack can tell as his icy blue eyes meet his, narrowing a fraction.

“But being the benevolent, wonderful man I am,” he drawls, “I have put up with him. Isn't that right, sweetheart?”

Mark puts an arm around him, and he doesn't miss the way Jack stiffens just a fraction. It's kind of a cruel move to put Jack in such a position, especially with the endearment attached to the phrase. But he can't bring himself to be kind, because Jack is the one who put him in this position to start off with. All because he couldn't toughen the fuck up and admit to his family that he screwed up.

Because it is. It is his fault. Four years, wasted. Four fucking years.

“I'm blessed,” Jack answers, coolly. He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. “To have someone as amazing as you, always putting up with me. But I guess it's only fair since I'm putting up with you, too.”

“Ooooh,” Seamus, the younger of Jack's brothers, coos. “Trouble in paradise, I see? Sounds like a lot of tension you two got to fuck out.”

“Seamus!” Mrs. McLoughlin hisses, and the younger McLoughlin sibling throws up his hands, seemingly in apology, but Mark knows that it's just the way he is. He meant the statement.

“Jack,” his mother says. “Why don't you and Mark go get settled in? Dinner is just about ready. We'll call you down.”

Without waiting for Mark, Jack heads up to his childhood room, and despite knowing that he doesn't want Mark to follow him, he does so anyway.

He just about slams the door in Mark's face when Mark keeps it open with his hand, shutting it behind him as gently as he can manage before crossing his arms, leaning against it. “You're doing a damn good job of pretending nothing's wrong, McLoughlin. Gee, it's like we never separated to begin with.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jack spits. “Just—just shut _up_.”

“If you're going to put up an act,” Mark says, coldly. “At least play your part properly. They're going to figure it out really fast if you keep showing your real feelings, _honey_.”

Jack's eyes are wild with hatred. “Get out of my room.”

“And give you the satisfaction?” Mark laughs. “No. You dragged me out here and now you're going to deal with it whether you like it or not. So you're going to sit your pretty little ass down and deal with it for three days, because frankly, I'm not liking how every time you open your stupid mouth I get a headache.”

Mark can't remember the last time he was this cold, and cruel. He can see it too, in the way Jack's eyes flicker. He's so expressive with his eyes. Nothing is ever hidden, it's always there.

“Whatever,” Jack says, finally. He turns his back to him, trembling as he pulls off his coat, dropping it carelessly onto the floor.

In the absence of speech, Mark takes a minute to glance about the room. It's exactly as he remembers it last year, all the posters from his teen years and various CD albums lining the shelves on the walls. A calendar from four years ago hangs by the window. One date is circled.

His heart softens.

March 15. The day they met in person for the first time.

As if reading his thoughts, Jack walks over and tears the calendar down. The thumb tack remains as he stares at the crumpled paper on the floor.

“Violent,” Mark comments dryly. “Have a little more respect for your parents' walls.”

Jack's eyes slide to him, and Mark is alarmed to find nothing. The hatred disappears. Only blankness remains.

“I'm gonna tell them,” Jack hums, almost happily. It's still laced with venom. “I'm gonna tell them and then you're gonna get the fuck out so I never have to see you again.”

Mark remains still. He doesn't make a point to move out of his way, his arms still crossed. Jack says, “Get out of the doorway.”

“Nope,” Mark replies. “I'm gonna stay right here until you come to your goddamn senses and realize that is stupidest idea you've come up with in four years.”

“I don't care how stupid it is,” Jack spits. “I can't bear to look at you. I'll deal with my parents' heartbreak over _you_.”

Mark hums quietly. “Selfish, much?”

“Who are you,” Jack murmurs. “To tell me I'm selfish.”

He curls his fingers into fists. “What was that?”

“You're the selfish one,” Jack whispers. “You always have been. You always will be. I pity the next person to date you, because all you'll do is take, and take, and take, and never give back to them--!”

Mark opens his mouth to retaliate when the sound of Jack's mother comes through the door. Dinner time.

He closes his mouth, and without so much as a word, he turns around, opens the door, and leaves.

Jack's footsteps soon follow.

~~

Dinner is by far the most awkward affair. It's filled with a lot of laughter, but from neither of the two men. They eat in silence and answer any questions that come their way, but never speak directly to each other.

No one seems to find this weird and Mark is just fine with that.

It is worth mentioning in Mark's opinion that he is giving up valuable time in his personal life to be here. It's not even Christmas. It's the 28th, a few days after, and Jack just calls it Christmas because this is the only day he's gotten to spend with his family. On the day of actual Christmas, he had been out visiting friends, and he had called Mark up that night to make his request. Mark doesn't really know why he agreed.

He could be with his family right now. But instead he's pretended that him and Jack are still together and he'll visit his mother a little after the new year.

Last year, this had been a much more pleasant affair. Lots of hand holding, lots of secret kisses and a lot of shit from the McLoughlin family. Mark likes the McLoughlin family. It's just a shame he doesn't like _Jack_.

(Not anymore, at least.)

When Mark gets up to take his plate into the kitchen, Jack does too, but they don't bother saying anything to each other. What is there to say, anyway? It's not like they want to profess their love for each other, suddenly and without warning.

“Oh, would you look at that,” Amelia grins. “I knew putting that mistletoe there would be a good idea.”

Immediately, the two turn to each other. Jack looks livid. At him or his sister, Mark can't tell.

“Shouldn't be too bad though,” Aidan says. “Since you two are dating. Pucker up, you two. It's tradition, after all.”

Mark thinks that he should just laugh it off and excuse himself, but Jack surprises him by saying, almost sweetly, “Well, you heard them, right?”

So it appears he's taken Mark's advice to heart. He's playing the part. So without bothering to warn him, Mark cups Jack's cheeks and kisses him, perhaps a little too roughly.

It's not a nice kiss. It's stiff and sort of gross, but no one seems to notice the unpleasantness exchanged between the two. Mark looks him in the eye, and once he loved to look into Jack's eyes after they kissed, because he could always see how happy Jack was.

But now, he sees nothing, and is startled because it doesn't bother him.

~~

Jack retires to bed before him. Mark stays up with the McLoughlin family for a while longer before he too, goes to bed.

When he gets changed into his pajamas and sees Jack's sleeping form, it's almost an uncomfortable sensation to crawl into bed next to him, and sleep.

~~

_Creak._

Mark opens his eyes. He's always been a light sleeper. He rolls onto his back and is surprised that there's no warmth next to him. He sits up and combs his fingers through his hair, before grabbing his glasses from the nightstand.

Jack stands at the edge of the bed, exhausted, the moon illuminating his form.

Mark raises a brow. Jack sighs.

“What the fuck happened?” he asks, gently, and despite the profane language, it's a genuine question. “Why are we like this?”

He almost replies with a scathing retort, because that's what he deserves, but he finds himself unable. Instead, he realizes that he doesn't have an answer for that question. He really, truly doesn't. So Mark shrugs, gripping the blanket in his hand.

“You're so stubborn,” Mark tries. “You...you never let me help you. You always wanted to be independent but you forget that being in a relationship means to allow another person in, as well.”

He glances at the clock. It's 3 AM.

“I just didn't want you to think I was a burden,” Jack admits. He swallows. “But you—you always, you never dealt with your problems, so how was I to know you would help me with mine? You always fucking ran, and--”

“I never ran,” Mark spits.

“Yes, you did,” Jack hisses. “You changed, Mark. It's like—four years ago I was all you could see and then you—and then I stopped being important.”

He lets out a sigh. Mark says, “I stopped being important to you, too. You never communicated with me. You just _worked_. You made yourself sick. You made me watch you suffer and didn't let me do anything about it.”

“You never gave me a reason to believe in you,” Jack replies. “All you ever did was shove your issues under the rug. You never talked to me about them. You never communicated with me, either. You would travel halfway around the world just so you could avoid talking to me.”

Both are silent. None of these facts can be disputed.

“I was scared of losing you,” Jack continues, finally. “That's why I never opened up. Why I shut you out. I was scared of losing you.”

“You think I wasn't scared of the same thing?” Mark asks him. “Do you think for one second I didn't worry that you would run away from me?”

Jack chews on his lip. “I loved you, though. You were the only person I ever loved that much. I would've stuck with you through anything. But then you quit. And I did, too.”

“I only quit,” Mark breathes. “Because I thought you did.”

Silence.

“I hated you, too,” Jack licks his lips. “When all of this started. I'm so high strung around you when I'm awake.”

“You're not, now?” Mark asks.

“Not really,” Jack rubs his eyes. “I'm half conscious right now. I'm so tired. Of fighting with you. Of dealing with this. Of this fucking cold ass weather.”

Mark laughs at that. Genuinely laughs. Jack smiles.

“You were the only person I loved that much, too,” Mark tells him. “We could've worked it out.”

“We could've,” Jack says. “But instead we broke up.”

He pauses. “Mark, why did you agree to pretend with me?”

“Pity,” he answers, automatically. It is the spiteful answer, after all. “I pitied you and thought that this would be my last gift to you. Four years, wasted, huh?”

Jack shrugs at that. “Wasted? I don't know.”

Mark feels like he should say more. But before he can, Jack walks around the bed and lifts up the covers, scooting back in. He faces away from him.

“Maybe it wasn't for pity,” Mark finds himself amending. “It was—a gift to myself. To pretend...I still had someone I lost.”

Jack rolls over to face him. He looks speechless.

The cold air wraps around them both. Mark swears, “Fuck. I thought I was done with this.”

His partner doesn't speak. It's the first time he's been speechless in a long time.

“Go back to sleep,” Mark says, angrily. “Goodnight.”

“Mark,” Jack begins, his voice tentative. “You can't just--”

“I can, and I _will_ ,” Mark hisses. “What's done is done.”

He goes to roll over, but Jack grabs him by the wrist. He whirls on him. “Jack!”

“Keep your voice down,” his ex-boyfriend says through gritted teeth. “There's a whole house of people sleeping.”

“Then let _go_.”

As if contemplating it for a good while, Jack finally releases him. But he interrupts Mark as he's about to turn again. “What did you mean, what's done is done?”

“It doesn't matter,” he answers. “Go the fuck to sleep.”

“There you go again,” Jack spits. “Avoiding every single fucking problem that comes your way.”

And then that feeling fills him again. Anger. Mark has never been quick to anger but Jack has a way of magnifying every single emotion that ever runs through him. Almost immediately, he wants to get up and slam the door, get in his car and just drive someplace, but he knows that's not an available option. So he settles for his chilly tone, “You don't get to say that to me.”

“I think I just did,” Jack drawls. “Because it's what you are. A goddamn coward. I might be stubborn, I might be obnoxious, but you're a fucking coward.”

Mark can feel the emotions welling up inside of him. It’s almost unbearable. He avoids looking at the other man, knowing that if he does, he may begin to crumble. His careful, cold facade may crumble. He can’t allow that. 

“Think what you will,” he whispers. “I’m going to sleep on the couch.”

He carefully pulls back the covers. Jack doesn’t move. He slips out of bed and towards the door, trembling in the chill of the night. He’d thought he was done with this.

The doorknob is cold beneath his fingers.

And then--

“Fuck,” Jack breathes. “Fuck--Mark. Don’t--don’t go.”

He doesn’t move.

“I’m sorry,” his voice is choked. “I have no right to say that to you. It’s just--when things fell apart I didn’t--I didn’t know what to do. Everything’s been shit lately and it’s so confusing. I’m so mad all the time. It’s like--an ache in my side that won’t go away. Do you feel it too?”

Mark swallows. He dares not to speak. He sucks in a breath.

Silence.

“Did we make a mistake?” Jack asks him, quietly. “Did we fuck everything up?”

He breathes out.

“I don’t know,” he says truthfully, his eyes beginning to sting. He’d never thought he’d be in this position. “I--I don’t--I don’t know, Jack. I don’t know.”

Jack lets out a wheeze that may be a laugh. But it’s strangled. Painful. He finally dares to turn around and Jack isn’t even looking at him, contemplating the sheets with his eyes with an expression that spells _disaster_ , somehow. Like he’s destroying himself.

Mark’s destroying himself, too.

“I’ll…” Jack mumbles. “I’ll tell them in the morning. You can leave if you want.”

Those are the words he’s been waiting to hear since he got in the car to drive. But somehow, he can’t bring himself to move.

“I’ve stuck it out so far,” Mark tells him hoarsely. “I’m not going to run away now.”

Jack lets out a long sigh. He gets out bed and opens his bedside drawer, rummaging around in it for a few moments. After a bit, he withdrawals a few bills and walks around the bed. Mark forgets they’re nearly the same height as Jack approaches him, stuffing a few bills into his hand.

“Just take this,” he says. “And go get a cab. There’s a pretty reliable service that works really late hours in this area. I’ll give you the number. You can go home. I’m gonna go back to sleep so I can...figure out how to tell my family about this stupid scheme of mine.”

He offers him a smile, one of those real, genuine smiles he doesn’t see very often. Not anymore at least. Mark had forgotten how much he missed them. 

“I don’t want your money,” he tries to say, as viciously as he can, but to no avail. It doesn’t come off rude at all. It just sounds sad.

“Then pay me back later,” Jack says, without missing a beat. He turns around, presumably to head back to bed. “Goodnight, Mark.”

It sounds like goodbye.

Once before, Mark had watched Jack leave him. Once before, Mark had watched Jack’s back walk away from him at the Cincinnati airport, his eyes threatening to overflow with tears before calling Jack back, asking him fervently to move in with him. 

They’d known each other for one year, twelve days, and forty-five minutes at the time. They’d known each other in person for four days. 

Mark drops the money. He reaches out and grabs Jack by the wrist. He spins, obviously startled, when Mark yanks him closer and bridges the gap between them, kissing him hard on the mouth.

It’s not the easy kiss that they first shared, tentative and awkward. It’s not the romantic kiss from their first time. It’s not the soft good morning kiss or the butterfly good night kiss, and it’s not even the apology kiss. It’s more desperate, more needy, a mixture of anger and frustration and longing and ache and pure _want_. 

“Don’t turn your back on me,” Mark breathes, against his lips. “Don’t you _ever_ turn your back on me again.”

Jack doesn’t answer him as he kisses him again, with more force, causing Mark to stumble a bit, his back hitting the door with a soft _thud_. Jack hisses, as if he’s the one who’s just been hit, but nevertheless continues to kiss him, and Mark is more than willing to comply with that.

“Shit, shit, _Mark_ ,” Jack murmurs. “Don’t go. Don’t fucking go, okay?” 

It’s question. It’s a promise. It’s all he needs to hear.

“I won’t,” he tries to pull him closer, as if they can get any closer. “Just--Jack, you have to--you have to communicate with me. Promise me, promise me you’ll talk to me.”

Jack hesitates. 

Mark’s hold on him loosens. If Jack can’t make this promise--then--then--

But then Jack grips him tighter. “Okay. I promise. Just promise me you won’t run away from me anymore.”

He kisses him to answer. Mark laces their fingers together, marveling at the familiar sensation, and wonders why he ever thought it was a good idea to run from him. 

Remorse fills him. But Jack squeezes his fingers and it’s all the assurance he needs to realize this is just another milestone.

It’s 3:31 AM and in the darkness of Jack’s old room, new memories begin to form.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Thank you so much for your support. Come chat with me at galaxyghosty.tumblr.com


End file.
